


the profession of my fingers floating over you

by qualityvanilla



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: BDSM, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Dom/sub, M/M, Off-screen Negotation, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Painplay, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Sub Victor Nikiforov, Victor cries, kind of, lots of sap and no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qualityvanilla/pseuds/qualityvanilla
Summary: Yuuri’s skin is buzzing. He feels almost high from competing with Viktor, from coming so close to beating him.He wants to win, wants to get his hands on him and win somehow.





	the profession of my fingers floating over you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pizzaandfairytales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzaandfairytales/gifts).



> (Title from The Cinnamon Peeler's Wife by Michael Ondaatje.)
> 
> This is the first fic I've written in years. All thanks to my person who talked to me about Viktor and Yuuri for hours on end. Betaed by Aze, without whom I would never write anything at all. All mistakes are, obviously, my own.
> 
> If you think I'm missing a tag, let me know.
> 
> Please be kind.

They’re just returning from the competition, entering the lobby of the hotel, and Yuuri’s skin is buzzing. He feels almost high from competing with Viktor, from coming so close to beating him.

He wants to win, wants to get his hands on him and win somehow.

He’s clutching at Viktor’s hand, pulling him through to the elevators, when of course they get stopped by fans. Plural.

Yuuri makes himself be patient, makes himself smile for the photos and the hugs, because he knows that Viktor will be angry if he just drags him away. His fans are the only people who are allowed to waylay them and Yuuri can’t be rude without a lecture, which is not what he wants right now.

He does still allow himself to hate it, though, to be angry at them for stealing Viktor’s attention away. Well, he allows himself to be angry for about a second, then he feels guilty, and then he gets angry at himself for feeling guilty.

He tries to focus back on being patient. Not very successfully.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be comfortable interacting with fans; half the time he thinks they’re only there because of Viktor. He can feel himself growing more and more anxious, knows the awkward shuffling and the sideways glances at the exits make it obvious. He just wants to get out of here and be alone with Viktor.

When Viktor’s hand finds his again – he’s talking to a woman who looks about his mother’s age, the last one still there – he has to stifle the urge to just grab him by the collar and drag him out of there.

The thought makes him feel slightly queasy, the nerve of it, but he slides his free hand as far up as he dares, takes hold of the lapel on Viktor’s coat. He tugs just enough that Viktor feels it, then lays his palm flat and pretends he’s not dying to get out of here.

Viktor’s response is so fast it’s gratifying, his hand shooting out for a final handshake and mumbled thanks. He somehow still leaves the woman smiling after them when they leave. Yuuri doesn’t get it.

By the time they enter the elevator, he’s managed to make himself half sick with worry that he rushed Viktor, that Viktor wanted to stay and talk to his fan more. Oh god, what if Viktor resents him for it? Why does he always have to be so impatient?

As the door of the elevator closes, Viktor turns into him and presses a kiss to where his neck meets his shoulder. Yuuri can only tell because it’s a habit, can’t feel it through all the layers.

“Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs, the word more a fond sigh than anything else.

Yuuri is an idiot. He feels the constant rush of affection intensify and presses his fingers into Viktor’s hair, scratches at his scalp until they have to get off on their floor and stumble into the room. Yuuri somehow manages to open the door with Viktor draped over him and not helping at all.

He’s murmuring things into Yuuri’s ear as he presses him back against the door, half sweet and half obscene, and Yuuri feels all squirmy inside. He feels embarrassed and too hot in his coat, but Viktor’s hands are familiar on him and he tries to ground himself by latching onto that fact.

That Viktor, who shines so brightly, who has always shone so brightly, is here with him because he chose to be here, because Yuuri is good enough. He pushes Viktor away just enough to pull the scarf away and start unbuttoning his coat. He wants to see the naked hollow of his throat and touch his collarbones, the skin stretched thin and sensitive.

Viktor’s phone rings.

He pulls it out of his pocket and it’s Chris, and Yuuri feels a sudden boiling rush of jealousy and possessiveness at the bottom of his abdomen.

“No! Give me the phone.”

Viktor lifts his eyebrows but hands it over without protest, good as always. Yuuri answers.

“Sorry, Chris, Viktor can’t come to the phone right now. He’ll call you back later.” He ends the call before Chris can get a word out, cuts off his delighted laugh.

Yuuri tosses the phone gently to the floor and says, “Take off your coat. Shoes, socks. Jumper.” He feels very calm inside when Viktor obeys, in that order, eyes on his the entire time.

Those are the rules. Do what I say, keep looking at me.

He pulls the jumper over his head and says, “What if it was important?” into the fabric.

“It was Chris.” Yuuri thinks that explanation suffices.

Viktor throws the jumper into the discarded pile of clothes next to him. “What if I wanted to talk to him?” His mouth is stretched into a smile, his expression playful, and Yuuri feels a brief flash of anger on top of the satisfaction underneath.

He steps closer and pushes his hand into Viktor’s hair at the back of his head, makes a fist. He holds him in place firmly and touches the fingers of his other hand to his mouth, gently.

“You only want to do what I tell you to,” he says. Viktor whimpers. It’s the best sound Yuuri’s heard all day.

He takes his time looking at Viktor’s pretty face, enjoying being allowed to stare and to touch. For a second he can feel his past and his present overlap, the 15-year-old Yuuri staring at Viktor’s face on a poster, touching the tips of his fingers to his cheekbones reverently. But Yuuri now can feel the soft give of skin and Viktor’s shaky breath on his fingers. He is so very lucky.

Viktor starts to smile again and Yuuri can’t allow him to feel smug. He grips harder at his hair and tugs him down. Viktor goes to his knees, pliant and sweet, and Yuuri feels his stomach clench. It’s almost pleasant, but Viktor’s bent head makes it morph into a quick flash of panic.

He didn’t mean to just –

He has to –

He makes himself ask, squeezes out, “Is this OK?” in a voice that is embarrassingly high-pitched. Nice one, he thinks to himself, definitely what Viktor wants to hear right now, uncertainty instead of confidence, definitely a turn-on.

Viktor tips his face up and he looks –

His eyes are half closed and glazed over, his hair falling over his forehead and touching his eyelashes, his expression soft. He opens his mouth as if to answer, but no words come out.

Yuuri’s whole body unclenches in a single whoosh and he finds himself cupping Viktor’s cheek without quite knowing how he got from a to b.

“You OK?” he asks, softer this time, knowing the answer. “Shake your head or nod.” Viktor nods half into Yuuri’s palm, more a nuzzle than anything else.

He half wants to leave him down there, for the view alone, and also for how it makes Viktor’s head fuzzy and his movements slow. He lets himself have another moment, affection making his chest feel all full and pleasant. But the floor is hard and Viktor’s knees are precious.

He reaches for Viktor’s collar, and this time he does hook his fingers under his shirt against the hollow of his throat and pulls him up. He nudges him towards the bed, stops when the backs of Viktor’s legs are pressing up against it.

“Strip.”

Viktor does it slowly, almost teasing, but never quite tipping into the self-satisfied performance Yuuri gets treated to so often. It’s good, it means Yuuri won’t have to work very hard at all to get him where he wants him. But then, he never has to. Viktor folds over so beautifully, goes so willingly, Yuuri feels like he would cry if he didn’t feel so smug.

He lets Viktor stand there naked while he takes his own shirt and trousers off, but leaves his underwear on. He doesn’t quite understand why, but it feels important to have some kind of advantage. It’s important that Viktor is the most vulnerable.

He pushes him to the bed, follows him down, wanting the skin contact. Viktor’s hands are on him immediately, one squeezing at his hip and the other in the small of his back. Yuuri lets him have it for the moment, leans down and brushes his lips against his briefly, pulls back to watch Viktor’s mouth stretch into a soft smile.

“More,” he demands.

Yuuri laughs and obliges, fits their mouths together again. He rolls his hips down and Viktor’s hands tighten on him, his body strains up to meet him. Yuuri bites at his bottom lip, lightly, then harder when Viktor makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat.

He finally tears himself away and Viktor whines at the loss, so he leans in for another peck, then lifts himself onto his arms so he can look down at Viktor’s flushed face. Viktor brings his hand up and tries to pull him back down, but Yuuri is having none of that.

He grabs Viktor’s wrists and pins them next to his head, presses his cheek to Viktor’s to whisper in his ear.

“Do you want me to keep touching you?”

He lifts up just enough to see Viktor nod.

“With words, Viktor,” he demands.

It looks like it’s a struggle, but finally he gets a barely audible _yes_.

“What else?”

Viktor closes his eyes and hides his face in Yuuri’s neck, mumbles something.

“I can’t hear you,” he says and feels incredibly fond. “It’s not hard, come on, stop hiding and let me hear you.”

He lets go of Viktor’s right wrist and pushes his hand into his hair, pulls him gently back when he doesn’t move on his own so he can see his eyes, still closed.

“Look at me.” Viktor opens his eyes immediately. “What else?”

He opens his mouth and Yuuri waits, but then just closes it, shakes his head. He looks so lost that Yuuri takes pity.

“You want the handcuffs?”

Viktor shakes his head. “Want to touch you,” he gets out, his voice hoarse already.

And there it is. “That’s not what I asked,” Yuuri says, “and not for you to decide.” He likes knowing what Viktor wants, but he likes it better when Viktor earns it. _Viktor_ likes it better when he earns it.

Viktor whimpers, is about to protest, but Yuuri squeezes the fist he still has in his hair in warning. He smiles down at him when Viktor closes his mouth and pouts.

“Grab hold of the headboard for me,” he says. He doesn’t want to make this easy, he decides, wants to see Viktor struggle to keep his hands there. He lets go of his hair and moves up so he’s straddling Viktor’s hips, lets him grab at the bars.

“Good.” Viktor’s hands clench briefly, and Yuuri smiles. “These are the rules. You don’t let go, I continue doing whatever I’m doing, and at the end you get a reward. Sounds good?”

Viktor nods.

Yuuri runs his palms across Viktor’s chest slowly. There’s an undercurrent of anxiety there, trying to make itself known, trying to tell him he doesn’t know what he’s doing and that anything he does do will be wrong. But Yuuri is used to it, he’s expecting it. And with half its power gone from how Viktor is looking up at him, it’s easy to ignore.

Viktor is tense, makes a whimpering sound every time Yuuri switches from petting him to pressing his nails firmly into his skin, exhales shakily when he lets go and leaves quickly-fading marks behind. Yuuri wants to make it worse for him. He wants to push until Viktor gives in and anything Yuuri does to him feels amazing. Until he stops wanting anything but what he’s given. Until Yuuri’s won.

He can feel Viktor hard against him, grinds down again just to hear Viktor’s breath deepen, see his hands tighten on the headboard. He runs his hands up and down Viktor’s straining arms, comes almost close enough to kiss and then moves away again.

He keeps moving down, keeps running his hands over Viktor’s skin, and then leans down to bite at his left hip, the give of the muscle there extremely satisfying. He kisses the bite mark, listens to Viktor’s breath catch, then bites again right over the hipbone, harder. He waits until Viktor starts making sounds, until he’s clearly caught between pressing closer to Yuuri and pulling away from the pain, then lets go, gives him a moment to catch his breath.

He likes the way Viktor’s skin colours immediately under any kind of pressure. The bite marks are an angry red and Yuuri can’t help but press his fingers into them, and even his nails left pretty pink traces that are fading slowly. Viktor is so beautiful like this, his flushed skin pulled taut from how he's straining, on display.

Yuuri’s chest tightens just from looking at him.

It makes something inside him feel content that Viktor won’t come out of this unscathed. That they’ll move through the day and Yuuri will know those marks are there, that Viktor will carry the reminder around with him. Yuuri will be able to undress him tomorrow and see for himself that this happened.

He presses his fingers into Viktor’s shoulders, holds him down, and bites him again, starting with his neck. He lingers on each bite, makes it hurt just how Viktor likes it.

He’s breathing heavily himself, exhales shivery in tandem with Viktor at every pause. A part of him wants to just climb up and take Viktor inside himself, claim him right now, knowing Viktor will shake apart regardless.

But there’s the stronger need to make Viktor desperate first, to push and push until they both tip over. He wants to cover Viktor in marks and watch him take it.

“You’re so good,” he tells Viktor. “You’re taking this so well for me, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

He murmurs praise against Viktor’s abused skin, and by the time he makes it to his thighs Viktor’s a moaning mess. Yuuri feels proud of himself.

He bites at the soft skin one final time, taking care to be gentle where Viktor is so sensitive, then licks a stripe up almost to Viktor’s cock. Viktor keens and Yuuri lifts to look at him.

His face is flushed a dark pink that spills down his neck almost to his navel, and he’s so hard it must be torture not to have been touched by this point. He’s breathing harshly, his mouth open almost invitingly, his hair in his eyes, still looking at Yuuri, his skin glistening.

Yuuri wants to be closer, the desire blinding in its suddenness, pushes back up to kiss him.

“Please,” Viktor says mostly into Yuuri’s mouth when they break apart. “Please.”

Yuuri reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes, but ends up carding his fingers through it again and again, shushing Viktor.

“I know,” he says, “I know, just a little more. You’re being so good for me, I know you can keep being good, you can last a little longer.”

Viktor shakes his head urgently, his eyes watering, and Yuuri feels a shock go through him like an electric current.

He feels certain in its wake, of both of them. He smiles down at Viktor, sweeps his thumb across his cheekbone.

Viktor gets overwhelmed, but Yuuri is good at taking care of him. He knows what Viktor can take and knows exactly how far to push. Viktor trusts him.

“You’re going to be good for me,” he says. “I’m going to touch you now and you’re going to keep your hands on the headboard and your eyes on me. You’re going to be so good and I’m going to make you feel amazing. Just let me. Won’t you let me, Viktor?”

Viktor is looking up at him with eyes still wet, his mouth open on an exhale, holding still against him. Yuuri leans down to rub their faces together, his mouth against Viktor’s, a soft drag of lips, Viktor pressing back into him.

“Will you be good for me?”

A shudder runs through Viktor and he nods against Yuuri’s skin, then immediately hides his face in the crook of Yuuri’s neck.

“Yes.”

It’s barely loud enough to hear , but there. His voice is wrecked and it makes Yuuri more pleased than it probably should.

“Good,” he whispers, presses open-mouthed kisses to his neck. “You’re so good.”

He works his way down Viktor’s body slowly, every one of his reactions resonating deep inside him. There’s a quiet sort of pleasure, something he can’t quite pin down, beneath the urgent beating for more.

Yuuri doesn’t fully understand the particular twist that makes Viktor go from being Viktor, the self-assured six-time world champion, to somebody who can’t quite meet Yuuri’s eyes without an explicit command. But he thinks it can’t be that much different from how deep down a part of him is always going to be the boy who crumbled under pressure and felt so completely alone.

“I love you,” he tells Viktor in between kissing him.

Any other time, Viktor would beam up at him, say it back. Now he looks like he wants to avert his gaze.

He kisses the inside of Viktor’s knee, which earns him a soft sigh. He smiles to himself and licks up Viktor’s beautiful thigh, presses his mouth to the juncture, not quite where Viktor wants him, again and again until Viktor’s sounds grow more insistent. He’s straining up to meet him and whimpering. Yuuri wants more.

He puts his hands on Viktor’s hips and holds him down, then finally takes him in his mouth. Viktor’s strangled moan makes him feel extremely gratified.

It isn’t long until Viktor’s sounds are so loud Yuuri passingly worries about the people in the room next door, and then quickly decides he couldn’t care less.

He wonders if he can drag this out long enough to make Viktor break the rules, because he’s never been very good at keeping his hands out of Yuuri’s hair when he gets desperate enough like this, or if he’ll have to resort to other means.

Viktor is so close, his body a taut line, the effort with which he is keeping himself still apparent in every breath, every shiver, every noise he makes. Yuuri tightens the fingers of his left hand, still pressed into Viktor’s hip, and reaches up with his right to touch Viktor’s chest, to press his palm down over his heart.

Viktor whimpers and finally does arch off the bed, comes a second later.

His hand lands in Yuuri’s hair.

Heat unfurls in the bottom of Yuuri’s stomach. He looks up and Viktor’s face is nothing but horror. He looks mortified, his eyes wide with fear. His hand flies from Yuuri’s hair immediately, but then he doesn’t know what to do with it, keeps starting gestures before aborting them mid course.

He looks so helpless, so scared, finally lets his arm fall down on the bedsheets, his other hand still in a death grip around the headboard. There are tears in his eyes, threatening to spill over.

Yuuri is knocked almost breathless by the sudden need to protect him, to have him safe and happy. Viktor looks completely ruined and Yuuri wants to give him everything and anything.

He half launches himself up to touch Viktor’s face, his neck, his shoulders in reassurance. He reaches for his other hand and makes him release his grip. He rubs at the palm and kisses his knuckles.

“I didn’t mean to – I messed – I let go. I’m sorry, Yuuri, I’m so – It just – Please.”

The last word is almost a whisper, and Viktor is now weeping openly, the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“It’s ok, it’s ok, you did so well, Viktor. You did so well, you were good for me.”

Yuuri presses his lips to Viktor’s tears, feels the swell of emotions inside his chest, making him so full he could burst. He can’t quite believe he gets to have Viktor like this, satisfaction thrumming through his veins because he does. He does get to have him and he gets to see him break down.

“You’re so good,” he says again because it’s true and Viktor has to know it.

“But I let go.”

Viktor’s face is a mess, all splotches of red, the sobs wrecking through him. He is so beautiful Yuuri could cry himself.

He gathers him into his arms, pushes his hair out of his face, rubs his back.

“You don’t always have to win,” he says quietly. “You don’t have to do perfectly every time. You tried for me and you did so well. You were so good, you _are_ so good for me.”

Viktor starts crying harder and Yuuri overcomes the need to stare into his face in favour of pulling him closer, running his fingers through his hair while he sobs into his shoulder.

“Shh, shh, it’s ok, it’s ok. You did so well, you’re so good. You’re perfect. I have you.”

It takes a while for him to calm down, Yuuri murmuring praise and reassurance for as long as his voice holds out.

When Viktor’s tears have finally stopped and they’re just lying there, Yuuri half thinks Viktor’s going to fall asleep in his arms. He’s perfectly content to let him, even though his arm is tingling unpleasantly under the weight of Viktor’s head and they are both sweaty and disgusting. But Viktor pulls away slightly to look at Yuuri, smiles at him, almost shy.

“You OK?” Yuuri asks, though he knows the answer.

“I’m perfect,” Viktor says and grins up at him. “I have it on good authority.”

Yuuri grins back, can’t help himself.


End file.
